


Show Crush

by lascif



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lascif/pseuds/lascif
Summary: THIS WORK WILL BE EDITED/REWRITTEN IN THE COMING WEEKS - PLEASE ANTICIPATE A BETTER STORY <3Taekwoon was a musical theatre purist. Everyone knew it. And that is why he was so horrified to arrive at his first day of rehearsal for his new musical to see a painfully familiar face. A face he had, just that morning, glared at with unreserved venom as it smiled winningly down from a billboard.Lee Jaehwan.





	Show Crush

In the rehearsal space, someone had painted the quote, “I love acting. It is so much more real than life.”

No one believed that more than Jung Taekwoon.

The world of professional theatre is exactly that: a world within itself. To those who have been bitten by ‘the theatre bug,’ it becomes a place where one can truly be oneself, in every form imaginable – the stage less a platform and more a site of endless possibility and beauty, where the only limit is that of the ensemble’s imagination…and the budget. Because like everything else, works of theatre take money. A lot of money. And as much as artists want to focus solely on their art, they must also become men and women of business, as a matter of necessity.

Then there are those (producers. businessmen. money-grabbing vultures.) that argue that bringing in already-famous performers, movie actors and pop stars, will broaden the audience and bring in younger patrons, encouraging a lifelong love for the art form. Taekwoon couldn’t deny that bringing in younger audiences was the only real way to keep the medium alive, but there had to be better ways of doing it: more relevant subject matter, the use of more modern music, or increasing the spectacle of the stage. But bringing in someone famous, just for the sake of them being famous, doesn’t mean they will be professional, or even a good stage actor!

He’d had this argument so many times before, he felt like a skipping record. Taekwoon was, by far, a musical theatre purist. Everyone knew it. And that is why he was so horrified to arrive at his first day of rehearsal for his new musical to see a painfully familiar face. A face he had, just that morning, glared at with unreserved venom as it smiled winningly down from a billboard.

Lee Jaehwan.

An idol. Of all the people they could have possibly cast, it had to be an idol. And not just any idol: Lee Jaehwan wasn’t any mere pop star, he was _the_ pop star.

It was impossible to go anywhere these days without seeing the young man’s artfully tousled brown hair and crooked grin on a magazine cover or a billboard. Taekwoon couldn’t shop at a department store or pop into his local coffeehouse without hearing Lee Jaehwan’s soulful voice flowing like water from the speakers. His image, his voice, his smile was everywhere; Taekwoon couldn’t get away from him. And suddenly, there he was, standing in the center of the rehearsal room, surrounded by a crowd of admirers.

This just wasn’t going to be his day.

“Why the hell do producers think it's a good idea to cast based on notoriety, rather than talent?” Taekwoon grumbled to his friend Sanghyuk, as he slumped into a chair.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the dancer replied, cocking his head to the side. “I think he’s charming.”

“Because of course you do,” Taekwoon groaned.

The man in question now had the room in an uproar as he did some kind of ridiculous mosquito imitation. Taekwoon ground his teeth together in annoyance. Thankfully, it ended as the guy slapped his hand on the wall, symbolically killing the mosquito. Taekwoon wondered if it would be that easy to shut Jaehwan up. He glanced down at his palm longingly.

There was just something about him, being the life of the party, entertaining cast and crew alike with good-natured teasing and impersonations of animals and celebrities, generally making a wonderful first impression, that made Taekwoon want to hate him. He knew he was being judgmental, but for the moment, he just didn’t care.

That’s when Jaehwan’s eyes locked on him and his face lit up.

“Sunbae-nim!” he cried, heading straight for him.

Shit.

Parting the crowd like Moses, Lee Jaehwan approached Taekwoon, already bowing from meters away, and stammering, “Sunbae-nim, I am have wanted to meet you for so long. Your performance in Eli----”

“Good morning everyone,” a voice boomed out, thankfully cutting off Jaehwan’s speech before it could even begin, though evidently there was going to be no way to escape the conversation later, as he plopped on the floor at Taekwoon’s feet.

The director gave them the usual spiel: going over the finer points of the contracts they’d signed, introducing the creative team, explaining his rehearsal process (as the stage manager dashed around the room making sure everyone was examining the proper handouts from their binder), and going over the storyline and how _they_ were going to make it _theirs_. When he finally wrapped up, preparing to leave them to their respective choreographers and musical directors, he asked Jaehwan to join him for a meeting with a sponsor.

Jaehwan looked disappointed, but rose, giving Taekwoon an apologetic head bow as he left, to follow the director out the door. Such was Taekwoon’s relief, he let out a tense breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding,

Wonshik was staring at him blatantly as he left, his face the perfect personification of the heart-eyes emoji. Taekwoon glared at him.

“Don’t say it. Don’t you _dare_ say it.”

Wonshik whimpered once, desperately trying to hold back, then lost all willpower, moaning, “…he’s so _cute_.”

* * *

“Where does he keep coming from? It’s like he has radar!” Taekwoon moaned, out of breath from his most recent escape from Jaehwan. Hakyeon, who had been reluctantly listening while using Taekwoon’s face as a focal point for his spins, completed an elegant pirouette and lowered his right leg to the ground.

“You could just, you know, _talk_ to him,” he suggested.

“Thank you for that polar-effing-opposite of an excellent suggestion,” Taekwoon said with a grimace.

“This is getting really ridiculous, Taekwoon. You two need to rehearse. You don’t have to like each other, but you have to be respectful to each other in order to get anything accomplished.”

“He goes out of his way to annoy me at every single turn. I don’t know if he thinks he’s going to get my role if he chases me off or what, but he’s driving me up the wall, Hakyeon. I have never abandoned a role. Never. But I am seriously considering it.”

“You know what I think?” Wonshik said casually, taking a bite out of an apple.

“No.”

“Yes,” Hakyeon said at the same time.

“I think he _likes_ you.”

Taekwoon spluttered. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Besides, he’s got a girlfriend. Ever heard of Lim Ji Min?”

Hakyeon rolled his eyes. “That’s just a rumor. Idols and dating scandals go together like rice and--”

“And more importantly,” Wonshik shouted over the top of them until they shut up. “I think _you_ like _him_ ,” he continued pleasantly.

“That’s why you’re avoiding him,” Hakyeon agreed.

“You’re both insane. Batshit.”

He stomped off, leaving the dancers to smirk at each other. _Like_ Lee Jaehwan. As if he would _ever_.

He grabbed his water bottle with the intention of drinking furiously to physically demonstrate his rage, but it was aggravatingly empty. Sighing at his awful luck, he headed off down the hall to the drinking fountain.

It’s not that Jaehwan was awful. He was just 100% extra. 100% of the time. He was the personification of a Kakao Friend, with every possible cringe-inducing expansion pack.

But…when one of the cast members had lost her father unexpectedly, he disappeared from rehearsal during break only to show up ten minutes later, gasping, out of breath, with an enormous bouquet of flowers.

And when the creative staff was coming down particularly hard on an actor, Jaehwan always followed along behind, to whisper encouragements.

And when he’d finally managed to corner Taekwoon one afternoon, it had been to ask him to sign a copy of his program from one of his past musicals. At the time, Taekwoon had thought that he was mocking him. But after what Wonshik had said, he wondered if maybe, just maybe….

But no, he couldn’t possibly.

He filled his water bottle at the fountain, then took several long gulps from the source. As he raised his head, he saw Jaehwan exiting one of the rehearsal rooms. Their eyes met from down the hall, then Jaehwan gave him a funny little head bow, closer to a spasm, before dashing into the restroom.

His expression was…off. He seemed almost scared of Taekwoon. Had he really done that to one of his hoobaes? The anxious look he’d given Taekwoon didn’t suit him. He found himself wishing Jaehwan would smile.

That’s when it hit him.

He stood where he was, having a mental crisis long after Jaehwan exited the restroom, gave him another long, searching glance, and disappeared back into the rehearsal space.

Shit…he might actually _like_ Lee Jaehwan. But no. He couldn’t possibly. It was just a show crush.

* * *

The “show crush” is a time-honored tradition. When one works in close-quarters with others for long periods of time, one gets to know them. And as they gradually make the transition from castmate to acquaintance to friend, one starts to discover how extraordinary they are as human beings. This is especially true with actors - once that spark of genius is found in a castmate, it grows into a crush. It’s unavoidable and beautiful and lasts just about as long as the show does. Usually.

Last year, it was Jihyung, an unsuspecting chorus member. Taekwoon loved his long, dark hair and dimples. He was incredibly graceful and beautiful when he moved. In one of his scribbled journals, Taekwoon had sappily described him as ‘sunlight falling through trees.’ Hopefully no one _ever_ found those journals.

Then it was Charles, his co-star in another show. He loved to watch him as he took on a special look when he concentrated. He loved his freckles and blue eyes and the rough blond stubble of his beard. They’d spent hours sitting in a coffee shop together, running lines and drinking endless cups of coffee with too much sugar. After the show, he’d disappeared back to England and became nothing more than memories and the occasional Instagram shout-out.

None of the men Taekwoon had admired in the past were conventionally handsome. Tall and broad and brilliant, yes, but pretty, no. That wasn’t his type at all. Each of those men were perfectly flawed and all too human, like the characters they played, and Taekwoon found beauty in the little idiosyncrasies that others might not even notice.

Taekwoon had never really appreciated Pretty in a romantic interest. All the leading ladies he’d been cast with were pretty. Delicate, with soaring voices and sparkling eyes and fluttering hands. They were so small. Taekwoon wanted someone who could make _him_ feel small. There was no one like that in this show. He assured himself of this time and again. Jaehwan wasn’t at all what he liked, what he wanted. He didn’t like him. He wasn’t even a show crush.

And so, rehearsals went on as they always did, each day a reflection of the day before, but faster, smoother, more natural. The lines were stronger, the reactions better timed, the performance more dynamic. And to both Taekwoon’s delight and dismay, Lee Jaehwan was magnificent. The playwright’s words dripped from his lips like honey and Taekwoon watched his lush mouth with fascination, drawn to the idol’s presence, in spite of himself. 

He started to be able to see what the others had seen right away. From the wings, from behind the curtain, from across the rehearsal room, Taekwoon watched his brown eyes light up, his elfish ears flush, his hands move through the air in graceful flurries of sword-strikes. He found himself holding his breath during the tense moments of Jaehwan’s performance, and he felt a strange stirring in his chest when Jaehwan would take yet another rehearsal selfie, framing his pointed chin in a V with his fingers and winking for the camera. Taekwoon found it didn’t annoy him the way it used to. And when he was alone, he indulged himself in closing his eyes during Jaehwan’s solo songs, letting the music wash over him. There was something to be said for an idol’s rigorous training. His voice was…what was it? There were times when it was so powerful, it left Taekwoon’s knees feeling weak, and other times, it was so fragile, he felt tears burning the corners of his eyes. Because he knew, like himself, Jaehwan wasn’t acting in that moment. He was real. Too real.

And Taekwoon realized slowly that Jaehwan’s honesty was refreshing. He had absolutely no idea how to be anyone but himself, and also no idea just how attractive that was.

It was only a matter of weeks when Taekwoon discovered he had counted the few tiny moles scattered across Jaehwan’s skin. He knew that when Jaehwan was illuminated by the stage lights, his eyes were the rippling color of sand beneath water in a cold lake. And when they stood on stage together, lovers kept apart by sheer force of stubborn pride, Taekwoon found his subconscious pushing the boundaries between what was acting and what was not. 

* * *

“What are we doing here, Hyuk Woo?” Taekwoon demanded, as his character Joo Hwan, advancing on the other man.

“I don’t know,” Jaehwan stammered, as Hyuk Woo, taking a step back.

“Either say what you need to say or stop wasting my time,” Taekwoon demanded, getting up close to his face. He had a tiny ingrown hair in his carefully sculpted eyebrow. It was the first imperfection Taekwoon had ever seen on him, and it gave him a sense of…something like relief. Jaehwan’s lower lip trembled.

“Cut. It’s just not quite there yet,” the director said, pressing his lips together so hard they turned white. The two startled out of their moment.

“The tension is there, but we need it to come to a head right here, otherwise the outright animosity after the break doesn’t make sense. So far, Hyuk Woo has just been running away. Not exactly rage-inspiring. Any ideas?”

Taekwoon had thought about it over and over, but he wasn’t exactly sure what it was that the playwright had been aiming for in this scene. There were no actions written into the script. He looked at Jaehwan, who was biting at his lower lip now, and tried in vain not to be distracted by the lovely blooming red color it had created. In fact, his cheeks were pink, too, and Taekwoon tore his eyes away, not needing the distraction.

“Some kind of violence?” he asked, finally. “Just, like, a shove? Pushing him away?”

“What has he done to initiate the shove?”

“I—” Jaehwan started, then hesitated.

“You have an idea?” the director asked, interested.

“Maybe?”

“Alright. Let’s give it a shot,” the director instructed. “Back to ‘what are we doing here.’”

Taekwoon sighed, moving back to his mark. Working with green actors could be exhausting, since it was hard coming up with all of the action ideas himself, and this particular director, while encouraging the actors to be ‘organic,’ wasn’t doing a whole lot of actual directing, just deciding, based upon what the actors threw out there. Back in their places, he nodded for the scene to re-start.

“What are we doing here, Hyuk Woo?” Taekwoon demanded, re-advancing on Jaehwan.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, retreating.

“Either say what you need to say or stop wasting my time,” Taekwoon repeated, moving intimidatingly closer.

There was a brief pause between them, where Jaehwan looked conflicted, then his hand was reaching out for Taekwoon. Tangling in the hair at the back of his neck, Jaehwan leaned in to kiss him. Their lips pressed together hotly, the other man’s slightly moist and tasting of lip balm and Taekwoon felt a jolt run through his body. It had only barely had time to register what was happening when he found himself shoving Jaehwan away.

“What the fuck, Jaehwan?” he shouted, panicked.

Jaehwan stumbled back into the corner of a set piece, a table, wincing in pain as the edge jammed into his tailbone. The furniture made a loud squawk as it scraped across the boards.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” he said, the expression on his face akin to a kicked puppy.

“Cut!” the director yelled.

Taekwoon shook his head, moving over to the far side of the stage, wanting to be as far away from Jaehwan as possible. He could still feel the warmth of Jaehwan’s breath, the softness of his skin. He’d not even had time to close his eyes, but Jaehwan’s had been shut tight, lashes fanned across his pretty cheekbones.

What he really wanted to do was run, to leave entirely, but that wouldn’t be professional. He’d already been unprofessional enough, shoving Jaehwan, but he’d been shocked. It wasn’t the kiss itself that shocked him. It’s not like he hadn’t been kissed on stage before, but the problem was how much he had liked it. And he found himself thinking the fact that it wasn’t real was almost disappointing.

This had all gone way too far.

Somewhere on the edge of his hearing, he registered the director explaining to Jaehwan that you should never make that kind of intimate physical contact with another actor without getting their permission first.

Taekwoon swallowed hard, trying to recollect himself. He regretted pushing Jaehwan, especially knowing that he’d hurt him. It was unintentional, but he’d just been so _close_. The fact that he’d been attracted just made everything worse.

He’d still been avoiding Jaehwan as much as possible prior to that moment. Especially since the first dress rehearsal… The costume change had caught him by surprise. Taekwoon had been trying to stay focused on the action on stage when a flash of naked flesh drew his eye. This wasn't uncommon. Actors undress around each other all the time. It's not a big deal. You look away and go about your business. But suddenly, there Jaehwan was, very much an idol, stripped down to his black boxer-briefs, unfolding a pair of black slacks. Taekwoon had stared, stunned at the unexpected sight of his body. It was beautiful. He was sculpted in a way he couldn't have even imagined. And he wanted.

Jaehwan’s eyes had met Taekwoon’s, startled, and he knew he'd been caught. Taekwon had looked away immediately, but the moment his gaze flitted back, Jaehwan was still looking at him, and he could feel his face flushing hot and pink. Taekwoon didn't look at him again. He shrugged into his cloak for the next scene and struggled to pull gloves on over trembling fingers.

He kept his focus on the play from that moment on, only looking at him while he was performing his role, and he, in turn, did not look at Taekwoon. Until now, when he’d kissed him.

He’d kissed him. They’d kissed. And Taekwoon had wanted again.

And he didn’t even know if it was real.

He wanted it to be real.

* * *

Taekwoon was tucked into a corner, going over his lines, when the news broke. The cast had been on break, most of them staring blankly into their phones, when two dancers started to whisper together. Then several more joined in on the gossip, until most of the room was engaged.

The hushed sounds were annoying, schussing noises on the edge of his hearing. Then Taekwoon was wrenched fully out of his concentration as Hyuk dropped down next to him, showing him the phone screen.

Lim Ji Min had collapsed during her recent performance, and there had been some kind of leak from the hospital stating that she was pregnant. The news spread like wildfire until rumors were bouncing left, right, and center, as to who the father may be. The most likely culprit, according to the news sources, was:

“Jaehwan,” Hyuk said, his eyes wide. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“Who cares?” Taekwoon muttered. Hyuk’s eyes narrowed as Taekwoon stubbornly raised the libretto to eye-level.

“Who are you, these days?” he snapped. Taekwoon looked back up from his script, startled.

“What do you mean?”

“You have never been so cold to a castmate before. You’re not just being rude anymore. You’re actually hurting him. Jaehwan knows how much you hate him. You know, he heard you talking to Chanyeol yesterday.”

Taekwoon flinched. “How do you know?”

“Because he was crying. He was _crying_ , Taekwoon. He wanted to quit, because you scolded him all through break, then called him talentless behind his back, and he’s been trying _so_ hard to do well. He’s been rehearsing for hours after you leave, all because he wants your approval. He admires you so much and you’ve been nothing but an asshole to him. And why? Because he’s an idol? Because you’re jealous that he got a contract and you went to a billion auditions and got denied? How is that his fault?”

Taekwoon opened his mouth to argue, but Hyuk didn’t stop.

“Yes, you’re tall and handsome and talented and you worked hard, but you know what? So is he! He worked for everything he’s gotten and it’s not his fault that he managed to get a break and you didn’t. So, stop being an entitled, unprofessional shit and apologize to him.”

Taekwoon stared at his junior, shocked at the harsh truth of his words. He’d always viewed Hyuk as a dongsaeng and not just a colleague, so for him to thoroughly put him in his place was…unexpected.

He knew he’d been too harsh on Jaehwan, but he’d just been so angry. He had arrived the previous day overly frustrated by Jaehwan’s smiling billboard laughing mockingly down at him once again on his way to rehearsal, and upon arrival, Taekwoon had gotten in a fight with one of the producers over the billing. He had the lead role, Taekwoon, so it was ridiculous that Jaehwan was getting all of the interviews, his name largest on the marquee and the posters and the electronic advertisements. And when he’d been completely shut down, he’d snapped at Jaewhan about it. The poor man had done nothing but try to defend himself.

“This musical is sold out for three months on _every_ performance I’m appearing in. My off-nights are only at forty percent capacity!” he had protested. “If they hadn’t cast me, the producers wouldn’t have been able to bankroll the show!”

“And there it is, cheapening the talents and hard work of your castmates. Like I knew you would,” Taekwoon had responded. Jaehwan didn’t even know how to react.

“You know I don’t…I didn’t mean…”

“Sure, you didn’t,” Taekwoon said bitterly, stalking away.

He knew he was being unfair. He knew, deep down, that he wasn’t a big enough name to carry the show. Jaehwan was. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

And Jaehwan, obviously thrown off, had screwed up their scene that night, over and over, forgetting his lines and struggling to stay in character. And Taekwoon had attacked him for that, too. He had been brutal. Hyuk was absolutely right – he had been cruel. And he was going to have to apologize.

It took some time, searching every room in the building, making excuses to the music director for asking for a delay on his solo work, but he finally managed to find Jaehwan alone in the back of the auditorium. He’d slipped up the arm rests on several chairs and was laying across the row, staring up at the ceiling. He’d looked over to Taekwoon’s face when he heard his footsteps, and once he saw who it was, his expression became immediately guarded.

Taekwoon felt terrible, seeing the other man’s pretty face shutting down, closing off, as he scrubbed the tears away from his eyes, not wanting to show weakness around Taekwoon. He was obviously arming himself for battle, trying once again only to protect himself, never on the offense, and it made Taekwoon feel unbearably ashamed, knowing that this other actor, who he had maybe even come to care for, was genuinely afraid of him.

Jaehwan sat up, bowing his head.

“Taekwoon-ssi,” he said, schooling his features into an attempt at disinterest.

“May I sit with you?” Taekwoon asked. Jaehwan frowned but nodded.

“I came to say I’m sorry,” Taekwoon said, looking down at his feet. Jaehwan let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Who forced you into that one?” Taekwoon looked up with a frown.

“No one forced me into it. I am genuinely sorry, and I came to see if you were okay.”

Jaehwan shook his head, as though it were no big deal.

“You’re not the first person to have scolded me, you know.” The corner of Taekwoon’s mouth lifted a bit. He wondered if Jaehwan had ever gone a day without being scolded, with as annoying as he could be.

“I’m sure that’s true, but I didn’t think that my scolding would affect you so much. I was thinking that the news about Ji Min-ssi…”

“I already knew about that,” Jaehwan said, apathetically. “It wasn’t a surprise.”

“You mean, because you….?” He trailed off, not knowing exactly where he was going with this. It was obviously the wrong thing to say, though, because Jaehwan’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Because I what, exactly?”

“Because you…umm…you two are…were…together?”

“We’re not together.”

“So, it’s not your….?”

“For fuck’s sake, no, it’s not mine.”

“Well, umm, do you know for su—"

Jaehwan broke in, “I am _gay_ , you idiot!”

“What?”

“Aish! You really think that you are the only gay musical theatre actor out there? Are you _kidding_ me? This whole industry is as camp as a row of pink tents.”

“You mean you never, with Ji Min-ssi?”

“It’s a rumor, Taekwoon-ssi, do you really believe everything you read? She’s like a little sister to me, and sure, we occasionally spend time together when we are not working, but we have never been in a relationship.” His pale face was strained. “My company used to encourage the dating rumors. It was a way of getting her into the headlines when she was about to debut, and I agreed to do it, to help her. But it backfired. On her, on me, on the whole company. Now it will likely ruin her entire career, and the company acts like all of this is my fault. Me! For being so _convincing_. After they forced me to do it in the first place! And I’m not even attracted to women, let alone her!”

He laughed wildly, completely without humor. “Isn’t it beautifully ironic? But don’t worry. I’ll make sure it won’t affect _your_ show.”

“I’m not worried about the show. It’s a good show. We’ll do fine. I’m worried about you.”

“You suddenly worry about me now? What do you care? I’m just a ‘talentless hack.’ Yeah, I heard what you said to Chanyeol.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You did. You meant it.” Jaehwan smiled sadly, taking to his feet. “You know, you were the reason I wanted to do stage musicals in the first place. You inspired me, Taekwoon-ssi, and all I really wanted was to be deserving of a place beside you.” He flushed and added quickly, “On the stage, I mean. I’m very sorry that I have been a burden to you. I promise it will not happen again.”

He bowed once more and turned to go. Taekwoon hesitated, stricken, for a moment, then blurted, before he could think, “Jaehwan-ah. Wait.”

To his credit, Jaehwan did stop and turned slowly back to face Taekwoon. His eyes were shining with unshed tears and there was a red indentation in his lower lip, where he must have bitten it again, trying not to cry. Taekwoon felt as though his heart were suddenly as soft and bruisable as a peach. He didn’t deserve the opportunity to speak, but if Jaehwan would allow it, he would take it.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything. It is me who owes you the apology. This person who is cruel, who makes you cry, is not the person I am. I have no excuse for it. I am so ashamed. The truth is, I was jealous.”

“What?”

“Jealous. I was jealous of you. That’s why I didn’t like you.”

Jaehwan looked as though all the blood had drained from his face. He rested one slender hand on the back of the seat row as he sank back down onto one of the velvet seats.

“What could I possibly have for _you_ to be jealous of?”

“Are you kidding me?” Taekwoon laughed. “You’re a household name. You have everything. Not only did I want my lead back, but I wanted your life. You are everything I wanted to be; you have everything I wanted to have. I auditioned for your company, you know…to be a trainee.”

Jaehwan blinked, silent for possibly the first time ever.

“Do you know what they told me? Every time I auditioned – that I wasn’t attractive enough, that I was too shy, wasn’t charismatic enough, had no personality, that I’d never hack it as a professional artist, that I’d never survive the variety shows. I was a failure. I started stage acting as a means of becoming something not myself. Because I hated who I was. Acting meant I could be someone else. Someone not Taekwoon. I wanted to hate you because you could be whatever you wanted, and still be you at the end of the day. At the end of the day, I’m nothing.”

“They told me the same thing, though,” Jaehwan argued. “Well, similar. They said I was annoying, that I couldn’t dance, that I wasn’t attractive enough – I had to agree to get plastic surgery as part of my contract when I signed to the agency.”

“Did you really?”

Jaehwan sighed. “The kpop combo – double eyelids and a new nose.”

“And _that’s_ the nose you picked?”

They both laughed aloud. Jaehwan shook his head, smiling crookedly down at the floor.

“I never claimed to be a voice of reason. But yeah, it was really very painful. I was one of the lucky ones, though. At least I was able to do it as a trainee, before I debuted, when no one knew me, so I didn’t get the rumors and judgment that others get when they do it later in their career.”

Taekwoon shook his head. This was the first real conversation they’d ever had. He regretted that now. He’d spent weeks loathing someone when he could have just…been a friend. Been a good hyung.

“I couldn’t do it, you know,” Taekwoon finally said.

“Do what?”

“Hate you. I looked for every possible reason to hate you, and I couldn’t find a single one. I told myself over and over again that you didn’t deserve the opportunity you were given, but I was wrong. You earned it. And so much more. I’m sorry, Jaehwan-ssi.”

“You can call me Jaehwannie,” he winked.

“And you can call me…hyung.”

* * *

The remaining two weeks of rehearsal passed by in a blink and suddenly the show had come, to thunderous applause and rave reviews, stating that Lee Jaehwan and Jung Taekwoon were the hottest thing to hit the stage in years.

It was a Saturday night, and the actors had taken their bows. The rest of the cast changed quickly and dashed out the doors for the drinks and conversation that unwind an actor so thoroughly after a show. Taekwoon had thought briefly about going, but instead, lingered in the green room, as usual, not wanting to go home. He always stayed as long as he could, lingering just a little bit longer in the euphoria that stems from bright costumes and colored beams of light, and the smell of sawdust and sweat and hot metal cans. And tonight, he was hoping to meet Jaehwan. The stage manager had just gone, and Taekwoon knew he couldn't dwindle much longer. He had just shed his doublet and pulled his shirt over his head when he heard a click and jumped.

Jaehwan was standing in the doorway of the green room, looking like a dream come true in his black t-shirt and artfully torn jeans, and he'd pulled the door shut behind him. 

Taekwoon’s first instinct was to cover his bare chest, but seeing the look in Jaehwan’s eyes, another kind of instinct settled in and he dropped the garment on a well-worn bench seat. 

Jaehwan walked toward him slowly, never breaking eye contact. 

"I didn't know anyone was still here," Taekwoon said quietly, trying to release some of the tension out of the air. The adrenaline buzzed like static in his ears.

"I was waiting for you," he replied. He was close now, so close, and he reached out to stroke Taekwoon’s arm with the back of his hand. "You have been watching me," he continued, and Taekwoon almost choked with embarrassment.

"Why do you say that?" The words came out in a rush. This improv was all so mortifying.

His lips curved upward, and he leaned in to Taekwoon’s ear. "Because I've been watching you watching me."

"God, that is still such a horrible line," Taekwoon choked. He could feel the tip of Jaehwan’s nose brushing against his cheek as he inhaled the scent of his hair. Jaehwan’s cheek pressed to Taekwoon’s, then his lips, as they skimmed down to his neck. “You’re making fun of me.”

"I'm not," he whispered. 

Taekwoon’s breath caught, then released, and their lips touched. 

On stage, they were the lovers Hyuk Woo and Joo Hwan, but as the curtain came down, for the first time, Taekwoon was happier just being Taekwoon, Jaehwan at his side.

And this time, he knew it was real.


End file.
